“The future is a long way away,” Zoë replied. “I’ll be lucky if I pass my classes today. I’m a sucky sorceress.”
Sigfried and Lucky had stopped to make faces at each other in a broken mirror. Suddenly, Siggy shouted. “Upstairs! They’re sacrificing a boy!”
The others all cried out at once.
“What—?”
“Who?”
Sigfried was already pelting across the hall toward the staircase. The poleaxe swung beside him as his legs pumped, his new sneakers pounding against the tile floor.
Mounting her broom, Rachel zipped up beside him. “Leap on!”
He vaulted onto the steeplechaser. The two of them zoomed to the staircase. Rachel was grateful that flying up spiral staircases was a particular specialty of hers. Banking hard, she flew straight upward through the middle of the spiral, just as she did when she flew from her room to her grandfather’s library at the top of his tower.
As she flew, her awareness of distances and three-dimensional spaces became crisp and immediate. Unimportant things, such as emotions, were shunted to the background, to be sorted later.
As they shot toward an open trap door in the ceiling above them, Rachel shouted over her shoulder, “Siggy, do you have any charges in your wand?”
“Not sure,” he shouted back. She could feel him shrug. “I haven’t put in very many spells yet, and I used most of them in the battle against Egg’s minions. I have my trumpet, though.”
“Better use that.” Rachel pursed her lips, preparing to whistle.
• • •
They burst through the open trap door into a hexagonal chamber at the top of the Southeast tower. Tall, narrow, arched windows opened onto the overcast sky. Carved into the chamber’s floor was a circle inscribed with a summoning triangle and a seven-pointed star. Above the summoning triangle, a churning darkness manifested, as if a cloud of soot had come to life and was attempting to coalesce into a solid shape. At the center of the seven-pointed star stood a large stone slab.
Five figures, garbed in the deep purple robes of the Veltdammerung, bent over the stone slab. Strapped to it was a young boy, maybe six years old. Between the boy and the slab was piled a layer of straw and dried pine boughs. The tallest robed figure stood at the boy’s head. He held a knife high in the air. The other four stood two to either side, holding flaming torches.
As Rachel and Sigfried entered the chamber, the tall figure chanted: “Come forth, Moloch, Devourer of Children. We pass this child through the fire to you. Come to us now, through the way we shall open for you! Great Moloch! Hear us!”
He spoke English. His accent sounded like an American, from New York, where Mortimer Egg had been living. Rachel guessed this was one of Egg’s cronies.
The little boy thrashed in his bindings. He had olive skin, dark hair, and very wide, dark eyes. His face was round, with large ears and a little cleft in his chin that reminded Rachel just a bit of Wulfgang Starkadder. Her heart went out to him. She had no idea how she and Sigfried could beat five adults, but she was determined that the two of them must prevail.
Behind her, Siggy blew his trumpet. Rachel whistled. Silver and blue sparkles swirled forward amidst an aroma of fresh rain and evergreens respectively.
The cultists spun in comical surprise. They had a moment to gape before the wind from Sigfried’s instrument lifted the two closer robed figures and tossed them against the far wall. Their torches went flying out of their hands and dropped sputtering to the stone floor.
Rachel’s attempt, on the other hand, failed. The blue sparks faded before they reached the stone slab. Ordinarily, she should have been able to reach a target at this distance. The warding circle carved into the floor was interfering with her enchantment. It was probably affecting Sigfried’s, too, but his spells were so powerful that the difference was not as significant.
Siggy blew again. He had his trumpet in his right hand and the heavy poleaxe in his left, which he held one-handed with ease. He clung to the broom with his knees. A second swirling of silver sparks swept toward the darkness, just as the tallest figure threw the knife in his hand. Instead of flying toward them, his blade was caught by Siggy’s wind and carried backwards. It struck the far wall and clattered to the floor.
The darkness above the summoning triangle churned and swirled angrily. Rachel halted her broom at the edge of the circle carved into the floor, wary about crossing over the ward. It was designed to keep the creature they were summoning contained. If her passing over it dispersed it, the creature within might be released upon the unsuspecting world. She pointed at the darkness and shouted to Siggy.
“Get that! Blast it with wind!”
He blew a third trumpet flourish, this time toward the summoning triangle. His wind sparkles parted at the edge of the triangle. The coalescing darkness remained untouched.
Two torch-bearing cultists remained on the far side of the stone slab. The flame on the closer torch had blown out. The farther torch flared as the passing breeze fanned its flames. The fire spread, igniting the robes of the man holding it. Letting go of his torch, he shouted, dropped, and rolled around on the stone floor, trying to smother the flames.
Lucky darted beyond the stone slab to where the men Siggy had sent flying lay sprawled.
“The kid and the kindling are safely behind you now, Lucky,” Siggy shouted. “Pull!”
Lucky breathed out a short plume of flame, just enough to keep the two men on the floor at bay. They shouted and scurried backward.
To Rachel’s relief, none of the robed figures pulled out wands. Nor did they grab musical instruments or raise their hands to perform cantrips. Not being graduates of Roanoke Academy, they must only be practitioners of one or two of the Sorcerous Arts.
These men were obviously thaumaturgists—as they were in the act of performing a thaumaturgic spell. Rachel guessed they were attempting to summon some particularly dreadful being, using the boy as their sacrifice. Four of them wore chains around their necks, from which hung Kalesei Astari or Summoning Stars—quartz crystals used as a covenant between a thaumaturge and some supernatural entity that has agreed to come at the sorcerer’s bidding. Poorer thaumaturges, such as these men probably were, often could not afford the high-quality gems needed for a fulgurator’s wand, but they could have as many Kalesei Astari as they had creatures to call.
The cultists also had two talismans among their accoutrements. Short rods, one of ebony and one of ivory, rested to either side of the boy. Each had a carved end piece. The head of the ebony rod was of ivory and looked like a fish head. The head piece of the ivory rod was of ebony and looked like a wind god, its black cheeks blowing. Alchemical talismans worked best if they resembled their function. Rachel guessed the ivory rod with the wind god top produced a wind much like Sigfried’s. She was not sure about the other rod.
The inner ward—the summoning triangle—was powerful enough to bend Siggy’s enchantment. Rachel decided to trust it to contain the dark manifestation. She rocketed closer, whistling again. Blue sparkles left her lips and struck the closest figure. He went utterly still, frozen in the act of bending over to reach for a rod.
Having spent her last battle unable to make a sound, it felt really good to finally accomplish something.
The tallest figure, standing by the boy’s head, grabbed the ebony rod. He pointed the fish-head at Rachel. It glowed with an orangey light. Rachel’s throat constricted. She grabbed her neck, unable to breathe. It was as if water filled her wind pipe, blocking it. Only there was no water there—nothing to cough away. Her chest rose and fell, trying to suck in air, but none reached her lungs.
Without air, she could neither breathe nor whistle.
Little dots danced before her eyes.
Siggy blew again, blasting the tall man from his feet. He tumbled, end over end. The fish rod went flying. The orangey glow died. He landed on his own knife, which scratched his cheek He now lay on the floor next to the first two whom Sigfried had bowled from their
feet.
All three cringed away from Lucky’s threatening flames.
Breath rushed into Rachel’s chest. Wasting no time with frivolities, she whistled again.
The last of the Veltdammerung followers was rising, having extinguished the flame on his robes. Now he froze, paralyzed by Rachel’s enchantment. Siggy blew his horn and knocked over both this man and the fellow who was caught leaning over with his behind in the air.
Vroomie hovered above the slab now. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel noticed the tall man, who cowered behind Lucky, reaching behind him for his fallen blade. She tensed. Her precise three-dimensional mental picture of the room told her the man was out of her whistling range.
But not out of Canticle range! She pointed at the knife lying next to the tall man and performed the cantrip she had practiced at least a thousand times in her secret hallway, upstairs in Roanoke Hall.
“Tiathelu!”
The knife rose into the air. With a gesture, she drew it across the room into her hand. As she caught it, she silently vowed to get Gaius to teach her the Glepnir bonds. The constricting golden bands were the most effective attack of any cantrip she had seen. Considering how often she had found herself in fights, it would be useful to know.
Sigfried leaned over and sliced the ropes holding the boy with the poleaxe. With a second, massive swing, he also chopped the ivory rod in two. Rachel cringed, as breaking a talisman sometime produced a bad result. This one merely fell to the ground in two pieces. The little boy leapt up. He backed to the far edge of the stone slab, gazing in fear at the coalescing darkness. Pointing, he jabbered in a language Rachel did not understand.
“Here, you take him, Rachel.” Siggy slipped off the broom and lifted the frightened child onto it. “Get him out of here. I’ll hold them off. Okay, Lucky, let’s get ’em. You burn ’em. I’ll run ’em through. Not the paralyzed guys. That wouldn’t be sporting. We’ll get to them later. But the rest of these murderers of innocents are going down!”
“Uh…boss, I think I should get that shadowy…whatever it is. Before it manifests.” Lucky the Dragon gestured with his cat-like head at the summoning triangle above which the darkness was forming into a huge, vaguely-humanoid shape with horns and wings. “It doesn’t look good.”
“Go for it, Lucky!” crowed Siggy. He ran toward the three robed men, brandishing the top point of the poleaxe like a spear. “Okay, you child murderers, do you understand what I am saying? You die. Today!”
Rachel helped the boy get his balance on the steeplechaser and began heading for the trap door. Behind her, a voice spoke from the darkness—a deep voice, steady and slow, as if the speaker were partially asleep.
“Who disturbs my slumber?”
A strange tingle of familiarity raced through Rachel. She felt as if she should recognize that voice, and yet a quick check of her memory assured her that she had never heard it before. The sound itself was not unpleasant to the ear, and yet something colder than terror gripped her.
They must do anything—pay any cost—to stop this monster from waking.
Lucky shot forward and breathed fire on the swirling darkness. It bellowed. A shadowy hand swiped at the flames. Then came an eerie wailing, followed by a loud pop.
The darkness vanished.
“Got ’im!” chortled Lucky.
BOOM!
A wave of immense force, set into motion by the dark figure’s gesture, lifted Sigfried from his feet and catapulted him into one of the narrow, arched windows. The window was too small for Siggy to pass through. His body made a terrible cracking noise, as it slammed against the stone casement.
The ancient stone casement wobbled. With a horrible grinding sound, it tore free of the tower wall and fell backwards, plummeting toward the ground—and taking Sigfried with it.
Chapter Five:
Flops-Over-Dead Chick Saves the Day—Sort of
“Grab on!” Rachel shouted to the little boy, even though she knew he did not understand her. He grabbed her waist as the broom shot forward. Rachel darted through the newly-made hole where the window and Sigfried used to be and dived. Without the protection of the castle wall, the chill of the mountain wind cut through her garments. The little boy clung to her more tightly.
Siggy plummeted headfirst toward a duck pond on the south side of the keep, amidst a rain of rocks and debris. To her horror, Rachel’s sense of speed and direction told her that the distance was too short for her to accelerate sufficiently to catch him before he struck the ground. Behind her, Lucky let out a horrible keening sound and dived out the window.
Rachel lifted her hands from handlebars, and, thus, the levers. This was not the wisest move. Due to her young passenger, she could not slip into the lying down position required to steer with her feet. As the steeplechaser pulled hard to the right, she again cast the tiathelu cantrip.
Sigfried was too heavy and moving too fast for her cantrip to stop him. Leaning back, she pulled against his weight, slowing his rate of descent. She felt a strange déjà vu sensation. Hadn’t she used this same cantrip to save her father at this same castle only a few hours before?
Did it count as déjà vu if it really had happened?
Lucky shot past her. Reaching Sigfried, he wrapped his body around the boy’s. The slender dragon was not strong enough to carry his master, but between his efforts and Rachel’s, they slowed his rate of descent.
Siggy splashed down into the shallow edge of the pool. Lucky remained wrapped around him, keeping the boy’s head out of the water. Ducks swam away from him. A lone goose ran forward and honked at them raucously.
Rachel landed beside them and leapt off her broom. Siggy’s eyes were open and unfocused. His chest rose and fell rapidly. A dark liquid, presumably blood, was spreading outward through the murky waters of the pond. Rachel wanted to pull him out of the chilly water,before it sapped the heat from his body, but she knew one was not supposed to move an injured person. Lucky slowly inched toward the shore, but he stopped when he hit solid mud. He would have had to jar his master to move him farther.
Pulling out her mirror, she called, “Zoë! Valerie! Siggy’s hurt! We’re downstairs! Er…outside. Outside, downstairs! Nastasia, come quick! They were trying to hurt a little boy, and I can’t speak his language!”
Zoë’s voice came back. “We’re on our way!”
Rachel walked into the water and leaned over Sigfried. Gently she touched his shoulder. He did not respond. Rachel’s heart began to pound so hard her ribcage shook.
No. Not now.
Not when she finally thought all would be well.
Staring at his motionless body, she felt as if the most important thing in the world was slipping away from her. Panic rose inside her; scattering her thoughts like startled birds. As clear as if he stood beside her, her grandfather’s voice rang out from her memory: Think now, Child. Feel later. There will be time enough to mourn when you bury the dead. If you think first and mourn later, you might not have as many dead to bury.
Rachel straightened. Rallying, she called upon the dissembling techniques she ordinarily used to keep her features calm, concentrating on that false calmness until it pushed aside her fear. Her mind became focused and alert. In the back of her thoughts, she was aware that her terror was still there, but she did not care. It would come back and hit her harder later on, but later would be after the emergency.
She reviewed her options, searching rapidly for any useful action. She wished she knew some healing songs, but she did not. But there must be something…
Xandra!
Rachel lifted the little boy from her broom, giving him a quick, encouraging smile. Gazing at her warily, he muttered something, turned, and ran toward the gatehouse. Rachel leapt on the steeplechaser and headed for the door of the keep. Over her shoulder, she saw the princess and Joy running through the archway of the gatehouse, coming toward her. The princess had the Gift of Moira and could speak any language. She would be able to help the little boy.
/> Rachel flew into the keep. The other three had left the spiral staircase and were pelting across the great hall. Zooming by them, she banked and came around beside Xandra.
“Quick, get on!” she cried. “Get your oboe ready!”
The two of them rocketed out of the keep with Zoë and a very worried Valerie sprinting behind them.
• • •
“Not sure I can fix this. He broke his back.” Xandra lowered her oboe. The last of the green sparkles from her recent song of healing danced over Sigfried’s prone form. “I have done what I can to keep him more comfortable and possibly help heal internal bleeding, but I’m only an Upper School student. I don’t know how to repair nerve damage or…I don’t know a heap of stuff.”
Sigfried rested on the edge of the pond, still surrounded by water. Valerie had insisted they not move him due to the severity of his injuries. Lucky the Dragon was still wrapped around him, peering tenderly into his face. Sigfried’s skin had turned an ashen gray. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. Valerie knelt beside him on the shore, holding his hand. Rachel and Zoë stood together, watching helplessly. In the distance, she saw Nastasia speaking with the child.
“Can’t anyone help? Come on, you have magic! You should be able to do something!” Valerie whispered, her face white. She shooed away the goose that kept honking at her.
“There is no physical damage the World of the Wise can’t heal,” Xandra assured her. “It’s magical damage—from spells gone awry—we have trouble with. Because it is different every time. The problem here is that we are miles from help and illegally in a foreign country. By the time we figure out how to get him to a healing hall, it might be too late.”
“Don’t say that!” Valerie’s voice was low, almost menacing. “He can’t die. He won’t.”
Rachel stood by helplessly, reviewing their options over and over in her head, without coming to any new conclusions. She could feel a sense of panic rising inside her, but she clamped down on it, refusing it access to the surface. Her mind kept trying to show her Siggy, as he had been just moments before: grinning maniacally and charging at the bad guys with the stolen poleaxe, followed by the almost comical look on his face, as he went flying over the side of the tower.
Rachel and the Many-Splendored Dreamland (The Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 3) Page 6